


I wish I could give you an answer, but relationships are complicated, and we’re in the men’s room.

by GenesisHardy



Series: Immeasurable [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Community College, Developing Relationship, F/M, Growing Up, Long-Distance Friendship, Long-Distance Relationship, Melancholy, Post-Episode: s06e13 Emotional Consequences of Broadcast Television, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27617986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenesisHardy/pseuds/GenesisHardy
Summary: "He knew she was meant for more—he wanted to sincerely congratulate her—but 'more' also meant 'farther away,' and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her completely to the distance and time of 'something more.'"As Annie's internship ends and a new school year begins for Jeff, both study group members are faced with the realities of growing up and growing apart.
Relationships: Annie Edison & Jeff Winger, Annie Edison/Jeff Winger
Series: Immeasurable [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019217
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	I wish I could give you an answer, but relationships are complicated, and we’re in the men’s room.

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the finale, I thought it made sense that both Jeff and Annie decided to let each other go, in a sense. But I don't think that's the end of their story. I wanted to write something that would show the trajectory of their relationship after the show ended. I'll add more works to this series later showing how their relationship progresses.
> 
> All of these characters belong to Dan Harmon, NBC, and Community. I don't own anything.

Lights illuminated the Greendale Community College parking lot and the sides of the buildings in small, misshapen circles, leaving half of the school grounds in shadow and the other half in a sickly yellow-green glow. The small trees placed sparsely around the concrete quad were unmoving against the 3AM sky. Brightly colored sheets of paper overlapped each other on the cylindrical bulletin boards that were spread across the campus while motivational classroom posters slowly peeled away from the windows they were taped to. A banner welcoming everyone back for fall semester hung dejectedly above the large stone sign reminding everyone that they were, in fact, at Greendale. Even the fountain seemed to have abandoned all sound and motion, as though it was tired of the endless cycle of classes and school years. As the first light of one of the last days of summer began to color the horizon, a stillness wrapped around the campus, broken only by the soft sound of solemn footsteps.

Jeff Winger wasn’t sure why he had arrived so early to prepare for the first day of classes. Maybe he thought putting in more work now meant having more time off later, or maybe he was starting to enjoy his job. For a brief moment, he thought that maybe his apartment was just too empty, too quiet. But that thought soon faded. Besides, the reason didn’t matter. Either way, the basic truth was that Jeff Winger was walking across campus at 3 o’clock on a Wednesday morning. 

He passed the gymnasium, the pool that doubled as a courtroom, and the dorms where Abed used to live. He saw the cafeteria, the biology labs, and the steps where he sat at the end of his first day, but he didn’t stop. The slow, steady rhythm of his footfalls was broken only when he climbed the stairs into the main administration building. 

His office smelled like cedar and scotch, giving it a more important air than was warranted. That was the one good thing about his new officemate; Jeff found the woodshop teacher to be fussy and pretentious, but at least his office didn’t smell like week-old meatballs, gym socks, or rotting yams. If the smell of cedar was the artist’s contribution, the scotch was his. Frankie had tried to confiscate it the year before, but she had since given up. They both knew he should quit or, at the very least, slow down, but they also both knew he never would. He had always liked scotch, and at the end of a long day, he looked forward to putting his feet up, closing his eyes, and focusing only on the sweet burn of the amber liquid. It was simple. It required no thought, and it allowed him to forget his lonely surroundings, at least until the glass was empty. 

Sitting down at his desk, Jeff opened his computer and began to reread the syllabus for each of his three classes, making small adjustments in what he knew to be a futile attempt at perfection. Periodically, he shifted in his chair, or looked at his watch, or stood up to stretch his legs. 

It was a few minutes after 5:00 when she called.

They had never explicitly said that they wouldn’t call each other. Annie never said that she wanted space, and Jeff never said that he felt he owed her that space. But after their goodbye in the study room and their goodbye at the airport afterwards, they both reached an unspoken arrangement. They would text every so often about little things, but they never called. They never talked about the move, or their jobs, or their goodbye kiss .  _ Relationships are complicated _ , Jeff had once said to her, and now it was easier to keep each other at a distance, even if, some days, it was more painful.

At first, Jeff wasn’t going to answer. She needed space to grow up, and he didn’t want to be the reason she couldn’t experience all life had to offer. It was what he told himself every time he thought about calling her. But she was calling him this time. Did that make a difference? Maybe. And at this moment, with his phone vibrating, and the sun rising, and students beginning to arrive on campus, “maybe” was all Jeff needed.

“Annie?”

“Jeff!” 

His anxieties disappeared the moment she said his name, and he smiled as he broke their unspoken rules. “How’s DC?”

Annie’s excitement and ever-present positivity crackled through the phone. She talked about every part of her internship, from finding her desk to meeting the other interns to filling out paperwork and answering phone calls. She described her new apartment (which she assured him was in a safe neighborhood), and all the landmarks she had seen, and the library that had become her regular hangout. She tried to recall each and every detail of the last three months, as though she was trying to make up for lost time. 

“But enough about me,” Annie finally said. “How have things been for you? How is everyone?”

“They’re good. Things are good.” Jeff answered. “Well, they’re okay anyway. I mean, they’re good by Greendale standards.”

Annie laughed, and with that, Jeff began describing his summer in as much detail as she had described hers. He talked about the Dean, and Chang, and Duncan. He described Frankie’s most recent ideas on how to sustain Greendale despite the black mold’s return to the stairwell and the faded paint splotches that remained on the walls. He told her about the extra classes he was teaching, and his almost perfect syllabi, and his new role as the debate coach. And Annie hung onto every word, listening with an honest intensity that no one else could. And so they talked until long after the sun rose and classes began.

“Jeff, that’s amazing,” Annie said. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Not as proud as I am of you,” Jeff replied. “I mean, look at you. Will I even recognize you when you come back next week?”

Annie paused slightly before saying, “Yeah, of course you will.” There was something else beneath her positivity and determination, something sad and unsure. “Actually, Jeff, um…” she said hesitantly, “that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Hearing the fear in her voice and trying to mask his own, Jeff tried to lighten the conversation. “I did kind of wonder why you called so early in the morning. You do know I’m two hours ahead of you, right?” He tried to smile, and he could imagine Annie trying to do the same. He knew he wasn’t successful, and he doubted she was either.

He could hear her take a deep breath before starting what sounded like a speech she had rehearsed a hundred times. “So you know this internship was only originally supposed to be for the summer,” she said confidently. With her next sentence, however, her voice began to waver, as though she’d never made it through this part of her speech before. “Well, I didn’t really know what might happen after that. I kind of thought I might have a little time in between my internship and finding a career job where I could come back and see you guys.” There was another pause as Annie prepared to deliver the news and Jeff braced for the impact. “The FBI offered me a job, Jeff. A real job, with benefits and everything. I’d get to help with real cases. I’d be out in the field, working with real professionals and gaining real experience. And it sounds like it could lead me to my dream job if I stuck with it for a few years. The only thing is… I’d start at the end of the week.”

The words hung between them in the static, heavy and unmoving. They weren’t going anywhere; she couldn’t take them back. Nor could she take back what she hadn’t said; she wasn’t coming back to Colorado. She definitely wasn’t coming back next week, and even though she might come back in a few months, it wouldn’t be any more permanent than a vacation. Though he wanted to congratulate her as wholeheartedly as everyone else had three months ago when she’d gotten the internship, Jeff found that he couldn’t say anything. He felt sick. The weight of her words pushed on his lungs until he almost couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to hold her back or keep her from experiencing everything she told him that night in the study room. He knew she was meant for more—he wanted to sincerely congratulate her—but “more” also meant “farther away,” and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her completely to the distance and time of “something more.”

Trying to sound confident, Jeff reluctantly said, “You have to take it, Annie. It sounds awesome.” Maybe she couldn’t hear the shake in his voice. Maybe she couldn’t tell that his throat was beginning to close. It was her dream job, and she would be perfect for it, and all she really needed to know was that he believed this. And he did believe it. But she didn’t need to know how much it hurt to believe it.

“Really?” Annie waited a moment before adding a relieved and solemn, “Thanks, Jeff.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” 

Another silence stretched between them, neither one really sure what to say next. Jeff looked at his watch. 10 o’clock. “Well, I should probably go. One of my classes is starting soon, so—”

“Yeah,” Annie interrupted. “Yeah, of course. I shouldn’t have kept you so long.”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Jeff reassured her. “I missed talking to you. We should do it again sometime.”

She didn’t quite laugh—it was more of a sharp exhale with a faint smile. “Yeah, we should. Honestly, I’m just glad you answered your phone. I missed talking to you, too.”

“I’ll always be here if you need me.”

Jeff remained seated for a moment after they said goodbye. He breathed in, then out.  _ Relationships are complicated. _ After another breath in and another breath out, Jeff grabbed a bottle of scotch from one of his cupboards. He poured himself a glass and sat back in his chair. In the back of his mind, he knew that he only had half an hour before his first class of the semester, but that didn’t seem to matter. Closing his eyes, Jeff tried to focus on the scotch, but he couldn’t stop her words from replaying in an endless loop, and it was impossible to say whether the burn in his throat was from the scotch. 

Any other day, it would have been easy for him to nurse his drink, to stretch out his simple way of forgetting the world. But try as he might, his glass was soon empty, and he was forced to gather up his near perfect syllabi and teach his first class of the semester.


End file.
